


The Everyday book

by Marieroget



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Diary/Journal, First Kiss, Grief, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining John, Post-Reichenbach, writing as therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7116823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marieroget/pseuds/Marieroget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is moving back to Baker Street , his things arrive before he does and Sherlock does some snooping. What he finds could make or break their friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own these characters, I'm playing with them . Like when I made Action man run off with Bionic man and ignore Sindy.

Sherlock surveyed the street for the twentieth time that morning, he let out a put upon sigh , still no John. Really he shouldn't expect him to be there, it was only 11 o'clock and John was at work for another 3 hours at least. He dragged himself over to his chair and slumped down in it petulantly, John was coming back today, and today clearly meant anytime from 5am onwards. Sherlock steepled his hands against his lips, but it didn't seem to centre him at all, he felt restless and slightly sick. Perhaps he should eat? he couldn't, he was saving himself for a familiar lecture about fuelling his brain and maybe a trip to Angelo's. 

The thought of Angelo's made him smile, the anticipation of the large mans greeting and the surprise when they turned up together! What would they have? John would probably pretend to be really hungry and order too much so Sherlock could steal some , and then he'd proceed to be outraged but edge the plate towards his flatmate all the same. It had been an embarrassing amount of time before Sherlock had seen through this little deception, when he heard the Doctor telling Lestrade that he wasn't keen on seafood linguini but Sherlock loved it, especially with extra lemon. 

Outside the sounds of the street did nothing to calm his anxiety, cars passed, cars stopped and still no front door opening. Perhaps he wouldn't open the front door, perhaps he would bang the great brass knocker and wait, all this waiting, all these possibilities! it was intolerable. He lolled his head back against the cool leather of the chair and sighed again.

' BZZZ' his phone buzzed in his pocket and he scrambled for it.

**Consignment of JW possessions on way. MH**

His things! His things were on their way, not John yet but soon. Sherlock could relax a bit with the things on their way, he looked around, as per he had left no room at all for anyone else and he chewed the inside of his cheek. He could still arrange all the things to make room for the other things, their things, all together, once again. 

**Amount of possessions? SH**

**Approximately . SH**

**Several. MH**

BLOODY MYCROFT! No help whatsoever. He jumped to his feet and started to arrange his piles of papers into neater piles of papers. How could he know what space to make? John had spent a while away now, and married people amassed domestic things that they didn't know they needed before they married each other. Best not mention marriage, what with the bride awol.The door downstairs opened and Sherlock raced towards the first floor landing, craning his neck to see down, several of Mycrofts army of sharp suited agents were ferrying in boxes to the hall and Anthea stood clutching a document wallet. 

' Up Here! ' shouted Sherlock, realising his voice had come out in a higher pitch than was necessary. Anthea looked up and smiled . 

'Hello Mr Holmes ! Point us in the right direction would you?' she climbed the steps toward him .

'Mr Holmes is my brother or my father, Sherlock is fine ,Anthea... Besides, I can't call you by your surname because I don't know it'

She grinned 'You don't know my first name either, Sherlock' 

'Touche,... Whats that ? ' he gestured at the folder in her hand and she offered it .

' Inventory. Dr Watson is a military man, it was one of the conditions to the move' 

Sherlock held the folder reverently and nodded.

'Where should the boys put the boxes? '

'Hmm? Oh, anywhere is fine' he turned to the kitchen then remembered his manners. ' Thank you'

' All your brother's doing Mr..Sherlock' 

' Hmm, well thank you anyway'

'You're welcome Sir' 

Anthea, or whoever, could be heard issuing orders that didn't sound like _'anywhere is fine'_ but then, she was employed for her initiative and who was Sherlock to argue, he wandered over to the kettle and flicked the switch on. He should wait for the men to leave before reading the inventory. Then again, if he read it in his bedroom , he could do it now. The kettle boiled , but Sherlock had already left to devour the list of items in the secrecy of his room. 

* * *

Sherlock muttered to himself as he read 'Barbour jacket, tweed sports coat, HA! ' he scoffed at the description, they meant that weekend thing that Mary had insisted John wore with jeans to smarten up. There was nothing wrong with Johns choice of clothing, he always looked smart, but approachable, a secret weapon with an unassuming shell. He tired quickly of the clothing and footwear pages , skimmed through books and DVDs and stopped at miscellaneous. _'Bedside lamp with dimmer base, 20 kg Kettle bell, Moroccan leather pouffe,._..a what? _'Moroccan leather pouffe'_ he read aloud, huh, that could go very well with Sherlocks little Moroccan side table, he wondered if it was vintage or recent and raced off into the living room to find it. 

His eyes darted around the boxes and he kept his fingers curled in on themselves, lest they start tearing at the cardboard and risk the wrath of his prodigal flatmate. There in the middle was a box marked **MISC.**

* * *

Happily cradling the woven leather bundle, he threw it down by the foot of his chair ready to try for size, it rolled and revealed a zip on the underside. Perhaps the stuffing could date it? it had been moderately heavy so was stuffed with wool? wadding? hmm, he unzipped it carefully. Beneath the zip was a leatherbound notebook. Sherlock recognised it as the one John had been carrying when they'd first met. He sat down in the chair, pouffe filling forgotten and started to read. 

* * *

_Thursday - Fish and Chips. I have to write something noteworthy and/or good everyday. Today it was Fish and chips, excellent batter. I'll have it again._  
_Friday-Walked in park. Didn't rain._  
_Saturday-Bought salad._  
_Sunday- Nothing happened , so I decided to have the fish and chips again. The Shop was shut because I didn't realise the time. My watch is broken._  
_Monday- Took watch for new battery, remembered I don't really need to wear one with nowhere to be._  
_Tuesday-..._

Jesus Christ this journal was dull , day after day of mundane rubbish , no wonder John was happy to race off after criminals with Sherlock. He flicked on to a page that seemed to be very full indeed and went back a couple of entries to take a run up .

_Wednesday- The sun continued to shine and the world continued to turn._ _Thursday- Went for a walk, met Mike Stamford . Took me to meet potential new flatmate. BLIMEY!_

_'Blimey?'_ Sherlock wondered if he should read further, if Johns first impression was unfavourable, despite everything that had since transpired, it could still smart to read it. Tentatively he turned the page, immediately he noted there was no day marked.

_I am sitting on a bench in Hyde Park, trying to remain in a delusional state, where everything will be fine. As I walked here I tried to shake out every detail of the last few mad weeks, as great as they have been, and they really have been, it is one night in particular that preys on my mind. In the darkness of my bedroom I replay it, in the spray of my morning shower I recite every word. I am going to write this down and then put this thought away, it serves no purpose._

Sherlock traced the letters with his finger, John had leant very hard on the page and slowed his writing down as if he knew the gravity of his words . Sherlock was intrigued, both at the volume of the writing and the sudden change in style,he turned the page. 

_Over the course of a few weeks, I have become involved with the day to day investigations of the worlds only consulting Detective. Lets take a moment to appreciate that last sentence, lets all suspend our disbelief. Currently these are some things that I know about Sherlock Holmes:-_  
_He lives in 221b Baker Street with a landlady/not housekeeper Mrs Hudson ._  
_He is approx 6ft Tall._  
_He has one brother , Mycroft._  
_Mycroft holds some sort of government position but seems to have his fingers in lots of pies._  
_Mycroft would love to eat real pies, but is terrified of losing control of his waistline._  
_Sherlock has Dark brown curly hair_  
_He had an irish setter called Redbeard as a child_  
_Redbeard was the love of his life_  
_He has no idea who is in the charts, nor has any interest_  
_He plays the violin ( incredibly well)_  
_He has a deep baritone voice_  
_He has super long fingers_  
_He shines so brightly that sparks fly off him in all directions._  
_His smile was like magic when I said I'd move in._  
_He is crying out to be loved_  


Sherlock blinked at the last sentence and wrinkled his nose, he turned the page. 

_The following things are true about me:-_  
_I live in 221b Baker Street with Sherlock Holmes and a landlady/not Housekeeper Mrs Hudson._  
_I am well under 6ft_  
_I have one sister Harry._  
_Harry is an alcoholic who blames me and everyone else for her drinking ._  
_I have short greying blonde hair._  
_I had a cat called Puss as a kid. Dad ran it over, I never had another pet._  
_I might like a dog_  
_I like the Rolling Stones_  
_I can't play any musical instrument, not even a tambourine_  
_I am not remarkable in anyway_  
_I am an OK Doctor , I was a better one pre Afghanistan_  
_I am crying out to be loved_  


Again with the love references, Sherlock was shocked at Johns apparent lack of self esteem , and his description of Sherlock. He stood up to look at the mirror on the mantle and smiled at it, it didn't look like magic, it looked false. How odd that John should write that about him, then again, he was unguarded when it came to the Doctor, perhaps he did smile differently, he certainly felt differently. GOD! What if thats what John could see, ugh, mortifying. He sat down with a thump and turned the page.

_Mike explained to me that Sherlock was eccentric, I was underprepared when we met. I walk into the lab at Barts and see a man in a suit looking through a microscope.I am glad he did all the talking._  
_As I walk to hand him my phone I'm helpfully reminded my heart can't pound as a sharp pain lands in my chest. I keep walking but the battle is lost. Bloody Hell._  
_There in a lab at my old stamping ground, my heart cracks a little as a tall dark handsome bloke in a tailored suit strides over. I immediately feel ridiculous._

  


Sherlock turned the notebook face down on the arm of the chair. He felt incredibly disloyal to John for reading, so he wandered into the kitchen , flicking the kettle back on while his curiosity and morals did battle. Should he continue reading? He would make a cup of tea and decide.


	2. Read on Macduff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course he reads more, Sherlock can't stand not knowing exactly what his best friend and flatmate thinks of him.

Sherlock sat in his chair , rolling each mouthful of hot sweet tea thoughtfully around in his mouth. He absolutely was not desperate to read more, that would be unseemly. He touched the leather of the book with his little finger and burnt with curiosity. John had zipped this away in a hiding place, this was a security measure. Secure from what? What could be so embarrassing or shocking that it needed squirrelling away. The pouffe was new to John, as Sherlock hadn't seen it before, so he could've have been hiding it away from Mary? or from Sherlock as he moved back in. Checking the clock on the mantle, he should read for one full minute, just a little bit more and then decide after that, like pressing snooze on his final decision. Yes. That . That would work. 

_He casually mentions the address of the flat I am to look at, as if it isn't the biggest thing thats happened in my life for years, as if he isn't the most glorious thing I've ever seen . All sparkling eyes and clever angles, wrapped in a suit that probably cost more than the rent will be._

Sherlock thought back, it was the navy Gieves and Hawkes , not at all an unreasonable price point and not more than the rent. Well, maybe a bit more. He supposed if he added the vintage finish oxfords, glazed cotton shirt, calfskin belt  andcufflinks, then easily 2 months rent. Well, John had looked ...nice? Restrained but well made jacket , relaxed chinos, older leather ...Yes, actually, he could see why John had been impressed. Sherlock was in his armour in that suit, it half won the battle before he started, whereas Johns battle ready brain lay beneath the soft battered layers always primed for action.Sherlock read on. 

_I need a place .I want to meet him.It'll be OK. He seems to be convinced I am a safe bet for a new flatmate. I don't know why he is so sure? He won't be so happy after being woken by screaming and shouting at 4 in the morning, me writhing in the grip of a night terror. Still, against my better judgement, I go._ _I go to the building at the allotted time .I am greeted warmly by the landlady. I remember nothing about her as I'm ushered up the stairs.The building is great, I cannot afford it.What the hell am I doing ? I struggle with my thoughts, I want to turn round .I should go now, before I embarrass myself._

Sherlock hunched forward over the little book, and drew his legs up into the chair.He had not read any signs of anxiety when they met at the flat the first time, he was too busy trying to give a good impression himself! he shook his head and pressed on. 

_Everything I remember is true, the long angular limbs, the sea foam eyes, the incredible suit.I have rocked up a bit flustered, sweaty and smelling like chips. He, Sherlock Holmes, is playing the violin as I walk into the sitting room, silouhetted by the light from the window. It breaks my heart again._

_It's not his fault of course. It's mine, for thinking I could ever hope to be with a man like that.So , here are the facts as they now present themselves:-_

_I feel foolish, sick and cornered._

_He continues to be nothing less than incredible._

_I was not certain how gay my gay side is._

_Very,it turns out._

Wait. What? John has a gay side? a whole gay side? He goes back to read the sentence again.

_I was not certain how gay my gay side is._

_Very, it turns out._

_I am suddenly presented with the one person I want most in the world at the exact moment I realise that this cannot ever happen. My heart breaks the rest of the way._

The book slips from Sherlocks fingers onto the floor, but he barely registers the sound of it hitting the carpet. John, his flatmate, the one with a gay side, not only has the aforementioned gay side, but wanted Sherlock the most in the world. Sherlock does not quite know what to do with this information, it seems so at odds to everything they are. More to the point, what should he do about it ? Should he do anything, should he read more? He picked the book up and tucked it back into the leather pouffe, this now called for something stronger than tea. There was Whiskey in the sideboard and red wine in the kitchen, it was now a question of which one, or maybe which one first. 


	3. Decisions Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reads more, and makes a decision about his next course of action.

Sherlock sat, a drained Whiskey glass on the moroccan table, and a bottle of Chateauneuf du pape breathing to its side. He shouldn't really drink the wine from the whiskey glass, but the whiskey had been a bit of a shock to he system and he doubted it would do any harm to his palate. John always preferred to drink wine from tumblers . _'No fancy glasses in the desert'_

Sherlock was reminded of the gin he used to sneak in his mothers fine china teacups as a 13 year old. Before he read more, Sherlock needed to be prepared, for mentions of Mary. Or worse to read any breaking in Johns resolve, that he wanted Sherlock the most in the world. He had to be prepared for Johns opinion to change,Sherlock had not allowed himself sentimental thoughts like that since 1987. He would be no more objective or superior to the general populous if he allowed himself thoughts like that. However, he also knew that Dr John Hamish Watson had snuck his way in under the radar and had remained limpet like on Sherlocks granite heart from first meeting until now. He took a deep breath in and reached to retrieve the journal once again. 

_Policemen appear and we're off, on a roller-coaster of adventure that seems to be my life now. I have documented carefully all the aspects of the various cases we have had these past weeks, but I will only write this here._ _I won't try to hide my admiration for Sherlock, he is extraordinary. I will never apologise for singing his praises, and I will never let anyone make me think less of him. What I have to hide, what I can't be open about is this sickening weight in my chest._

_I hop and shuffle along beside him to dinner the first time;he's able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. I'm a bit limpy._

_In one last desperate attempt to forge the connection I feel into something more , I ask about his relationship status._ _Feel sober and ridiculous, to his credit not a flicker of embarrassment . I think maybe it is imagined, this horror I feel , then the waiter appears and is mesmerised by him and dismissive of me. I crumble under the sheer weight of awkward, he remains poised and handsome and inexplicably in front of me.I fall back on standard procedure, hilarious anecdotes, old war stories, hoping for a glimmer of recognition. No one pays for dinner, and we're off again._

_I wish I could go home, I feel sick in a way that only those who have seen the film before feel. Those who know it has a tragic ending that neither character is aware of or prepared for. I am in. Whatever this is, regardless of my teenage feelings, I am in. I can no more go home and leave him than I could cut my own arm off._

Putting the book down on the arm of the chair, Sherlock shuts his mouth, it's been gaping and now is dry, he pours a glass of wine. An overwhelming feeling of guilt falls over him.Had he seen how John suffered? Had he meant to make him feel so wretched? 

He was so concerned that he shouldn't lose John, deducing he needed excitement. Also deducing Johns interest and although he read it very clearly here, he initially dismissed it. Not convinced this wasn't a projection of his own ego. 

There was another possibility. These words were fiction, this is a writing exercise for John. So why hide it? because it isn't true , he doesn't want anyone to read it. There's the guilt again. 

Sipping at the wine, Sherlock looks at the little book, its cover worn , a little ribbon pagemarker peeking out.He leans over to sniff it, it smells like John, warm and familiar. He really wanted those words to be real, he didn't want John to have suffered, but wouldn't it be glorious, if he wanted Sherlock the most in the world.He reread the best bits he'd seen so far.Fingers tracing the pen marks, as if he can deduce from the precision if the thought was real or imagined. 

_I was not certain how gay my gay side is._ _Very, it turns out._  
_I am suddenly presented with the one person I want most in the world at the exact moment I realise that this cannot ever happen. My heart breaks the rest of the way._

_I am in. Whatever this is, regardless of my teenage feelings, I am in. I can no more go home and leave him than I could cut my own arm off._

Sherlock is in. Sherlock has been in as far back as John handing him his phone at Barts. The only ridiculous thing here, is that he hadn't truly acknowledged it before now. After all, when you are willing to die for someone, kill for them , with no thought to self preservation, how can you fail to be in. The next page could hold Mary. The next Page could hold the end of Johns admiration, ironic when the whole Moriarty mess was a sky written sign from Sherlock that there was no one more important than John before or since. Sherlock felt very odd, and tucked the little book back into the pouffe.

He was overwhelmed with a feeling of sadness, for a time that had passed, and for Johns apparent suffering. Of course the words were real. John didn't know how to be anything else, he was a rubbish liar, its one of the things Sherlock loved about him. Stupid oblivious Sherlock . He couldn't unread the words, he couldn't go back, but how could he go forwards? His phone vibrated in his pocket .

**Thai for tea? JW**

This is how, this is how he could go forwards. He didn't need to read about Mary, He didn't want to know if John had changed his mind. He would give himself a second chance to say the right thing, to be a better man. If the moment had passed, well then it had passed, John deserved his full attention, and to know how much Sherlock was in, and had been this whole time. 

**Angelos.SH**

**Good Shout! See you later JW**

**His treat . SH**

**SHERLOCK !! JW**

**7 ish. Wear a carnation. SH**

**LOL JW**

Sherlock smiled to himself, tonight or forever hold your peace William Sherlock Scott Holmes.


	4. Follow Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothing choices are important to Sherlock. Are they important to John?

The coffee in Speedys had improved dramatically with the addition of the new italian coffee machine . It was silver and shiny , quick and efficient, and had appeared at roughly the same time as Mycroft had had to come in here twice in a row. Obviously the two were connected, John sniggered to himself and sipped at his obscenely good americano. He looked at the other patrons, a mix of greasy spoon dwellers and a new crowd drawn in with rumours of this caffeinated holy grail.

Mycroft was indeed a meddling arse , but you had to admit he did it stylishly. He was so similar to Sherlock in many ways, but Sherlock remained wild, despite clothing and hair product suggesting otherwise. John hung his head and closed his eyes, here he was again. The dull ache of his heart starting up again, it was different now, but one thing remained constant.Pulling out his phone and scrolling pictures of the last few crime scenes (note to self delete soon) he stopped on the one that had taken his breath the last time he looked. On the ground lay a criminal next to a Stanley knife , knocked out, possibly concussed, and there under a streetlamp stood Sherlock. The light was behind him and his hair glowed like some avenging angel , his stance was strong and his grin could just be made out through the grainy features of his face. A wide _'haven't I been clever John? isn't this brilliant ! '_ smile. He was glorious, a dark alley paling into nothing around him. For every day John had tried to tell himself he was over the way he felt when they had first met, this picture told him otherwise. 

The coffee machine was certainly a brilliant reason to visit Speedys, but the reason he'd come today was to take a breath before he plunged back in to the intense life he couldn't live without. To pep talk himself into acknowledging and then compartmentalising all the stupid thoughts he had regarding his flatmate. His thumb hovered over the trash icon on his phone, he paused then tapped it. He had Sherlock in his life , this was certain, any other thoughts needed to be stamped all over. Looking up he saw a waitress coming toward him , he smiled at her and she looked puzzled for a second before she took his cup . 

' Another? Or ...?'

' No No ! I've got somewhere to be '

'See you soon then ?'

' Yes, I'm sure you will' John bit his lip as if to head off any flirting that might break free, odd that he should feel that he was cheating on Sherlock everytime he thought about anyone else. Still, he kept it to himself, and Sherlock could never seem to deduce things to do with human emotion thank God. He took one last check of the table to make sure he had everything and headed up to dress for dinner.

* * *

Sherlock had tried several shirt/trouser combinations, and had settled on the Gieves and Hawkes suit that John had first written about. He flushed a bit at the glaring sentimentality of it all, but really he hoped it prompted a trip down memory lane. Some reminiscing, and perhaps a confession from John. It was unlikely, but at least he could try to influence subliminal nostalgia. The door opened into the living room and he heard John walk in shouting a greeting. His steps were crisper than when he'd walked from the bus or tube, so he'd stopped somewhere on the way? Odd. He was home exactly according to Sherlocks calculation. So had he finished early? Killed time until returning? Did he not want to use his free time to be home sooner? Sherlock felt a wave of nervous nausea. Perhaps he had indeed miscalculated and John was no longer the man that wanted him most in the world. He cursed under his breath, and chastised himself for not reading the rest of the journal.

'KNOCK KNOCK ! ' John shouted as he let himself into Sherlocks room. The detective spun on his heel and faced the door.

'Hey!' John stood with a warm smile lighting up his face ' Nice of Mycroft to move me like that'

' Yes.' Sherlock nodded, suddenly crushed with nerves

'God, you make me feel a right scruffbag! You'll have to give me 20 minutes to overhaul. Have I seen that suit before? '

Had he _'SEEN THAT SUIT BEFORE!'_ The detectives mind roared at him, of course he'd seen the damn thing, he was the reason Sherlock was wearing the stupid suit . 

'Possibly' was what he said aloud , followed by a self deprecating 'Um,..it's old, I should change maybe'

'No no, don't change on my account, all my clothes are old. I'll have to see which boxes I can get into. See you in a bit '

John strode off up to his bedroom and Sherlock sat on his bed with a thump. He really had overthought all of this. Still, John was here, for the forseeable future, and that was more than brilliant, so any other fanciful notions should be put aside and zipped into the morroccan leather pouffe . 

* * *

John brushed his hands down the front of his shirt , not bad, not Sherlock GQ spread perhaps, more Countrylife , but not the Freemans catalogue he'd been earlier. That suit, he knew that suit, he was certain it was the same one Sherlock had worn when theyd first met. A reset then, do over, start fresh with no nonsense, That suit, Angelos, and John, with his mind in it's rightful place, and not in the breast pocket of Sherlocks suit. He could do this, his best friend was downstairs waiting for him, and he could do this.


	5. Guardian Angelo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner is served. The boys are observed.

Sherlock had no idea what was going on. Mere hours ago he had been happy, confident and comfortable in Johns company. Now he felt , ...well... it was hard to categorise. On the one hand he wanted to burst out laughing and say _' Oh John, you know I'm a dreadful snoop, well I found your little book, and obviously I can't theorise without all the facts, so...'_ but on the other he wanted to hurl himself from the cab and parkour into the distance.

John worried a seam on his jeans, he wondered if there was a special machine for Jeans, they seemed to be so much tougher than ordinary trousers, not combat trousers of course, but maybe they used the same process? Perhaps it had to do with the fabric? As he picked at the stitching he struggled with acting normal . Honestly he didnt give a rats harris about the stitching, his mind was attempting to race ahead to coach him for the wave of deja vu he was speeding towards in a London Cab. 

Why did they have to pick this cab? Had the driver been scolded by Sherlock before? did they circulate his picture as a conversation risk? Why was it so quiet? Actually, why was it so quiet? What was his flatmate doing ? 

Sherlock became aware of John turning toward him and realised this silence was anything but companionable, he should say something, do something, anything. What he did was almost shout in Johns face .'TIRAMISU!' 

The Doctor although taken aback returned with ' ZABAGLIONE!'

They dissolved into laughter, and Sherlock thought perhaps all was not lost, he just needed to forget he'd ever discovered the small leather bound thoughts Of Dr J .H .Watson RAMC. 

* * *

The good mood did indeed continue , as did the laughter, even when it was in reference to other diners. The deductions of Sherlock Holmes and the answering giggles of John Watson were a thing to behold, and though Angelo told them to keep it down a bit more than once, he too was beaming from his place behind the bar.

Angelo owed Sherlock so much more than he could ever repay, his wife had stuck by him and listened to Sherlock when he explained why her husband couldn't be a murderer. It's one thing to love blindly, but quite another for someone to break down into fine detail all of your husbands failings and make them sound endearing. His sons did not grow up hating him, or worse following him into housebreaking. He himself had grown into a legitimate businessman and mentor for young offenders, there was no way to adequately repay the man who had done all this. 

Wiping a glass on his apron he continued to watch the men , there was an intense friendship there.He wrongly assumed they were dating to begin with, Sherlock was so flouncy and not interested in Maria the doe eyed waitress at all, and she had made grown men cry over their bread rolls. He wasn't wrong though, not often, he knew when it was time to chill champagne because he could spot proposals at 50 paces. So what was the deal with these two? they clearly only had eyes for each other, although Dr Watson had definitely choked on a breadstick at the sight of Maria. She was a terrible waitress, but he knew he had customers who only came in for a chance to flirt with her, his eldest should make a move already before she stopped making hopeful cow eyes at him and moved on. Not really aware of what she had going for her that girl, how ridiculous to be pining and hoping without ever saying a word. He turned back to the men at the window table, and saw the very thing he had been describing, both of them! wide eyes and shy smiles.What could he do? writing _'He fancies you '_ with an arrow in coulis on a dessert plate was not done .


	6. Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelo hopes he can make mouths water and hearts flutter.

'Gentlemen , I would like you to try my new dessert! I need expert opinions, and I know Sherlock that you have a particularly sweet tooth'

John looked up at Angelo smiling happily, 'Thats a really nice thing to say, but I think we wanted Tiramisu' 

At exactly the time John said Tiramisu, Sherlock blurted 'Zabaglione'. They looked at each other and laughed.

' Humour me, I'll have them over to your table shortly , ...but first a palate cleanser'

Maria sashayed over with two small crystal glasses of sorbet and two shots of Limoncello.

'If you get the pip, you get the luck ' said Maria and she set them down with her eyes twinkling. Interestingly, Dr Watson didn't seem the least bit bothered by Marias proximity, she was flashing a dazzling smile, but John had a bright smile of his own at Sherlocks intrigued expression. 

'We've both got pips! ' Sherlock seemed genuinely pleased.

'As long as they didn't come in an envelope ' John added, ' I'm all good' The men laughed again at this, Angelo frowned, he didn't get the joke but things were working out nicely.

* * *

Angelo set down the next set of tiny dishes, two double espressos, two shots of Tia Maria and two bowls of delicate sponge fingers, glittering with a crunchy sugar glaze. 

'It's an experiment in deconstruction, you dip the sponge in the liqueur , then in the coffee , then in your mouth' 

Sherlocks ears had pricked up at the word experiment and they both looked down at the display eagerly. John watched avidly as his flatmate dipped his sponge fingers and nibbled away.

'Theres too many sponge fingers for the liquid' grumbled the detective, but his problem was solved when Maria appeared with a bowl of peach slices , two glasses of Marsala and a bowl of Whipped Cream.

The communal bowls didn't seem to bother the flatmates as they dipped and scooped at the dishes.

Finally Maria Brought them a large glass of Prosecco and a shot of amaretto each.

' Wow Angelo! this desert is amazing, I'm probably just a bit drunk though ' John giggled and Angelo smiled from behind the bar at the men.He'd heard the oohs and ahhs from other diners. Maybe he'd have to actually put it on the menu after all. 

* * *

'Maria, thank you for tonight, I can clear up, you get off out. Finish your tables and you can go'

'Are you sure? theres a lot of glassware still to wash' Maria tried to hide her enthusiasm with concern.

Angelo wasn't fooled a bit, 'Yes I'm sure, you should be done in about twenty minutes tops'

Maria gave her best toothy grin and wandered off to check on customers, humming to herself.

'I wonder why he's done that' muttered Sherlock.

'Who?, Done what?' John sipped at his prosecco.

'Angelo, he....Ah...Clever'

The men looked over at Angelo who was texting furiously behind the bar.

Sherlock leant forward and kept his voice low, 'I give it 10 minutes, 15 at most'

'For what??'

' You'll see. Now, do you want another drink while we wait?

'I'm not sure what I'm waiting for, but sure, when in Rome'

* * *

About 14 minutes later the door swung open and Angelos eldest son Gio walked in, hair twinkling with raindrops and rosy cheeked.

' Here we go, clever Angelo, the sly old...' John was too busy watching as Gio sat himself by the bar and Angelo called Maria over. He realised Sherlock had stopped mid sentence.

' Sly Old what Sherlock? Whats happening? Are you ok?' as he turned to look at his friend he saw Sherlock had pressed his long fingers over his mouth and was avoiding his gaze.' Seriously, sly old what? Whats the matter? something to do with Gio?'

He looked frantically back and forth between the scene at the bar and at Sherlock visibly shrinking into his seat.Angelo was saying something casually, Gio was blushing, Maria was blushing, he was matchmaking. 'Oh the sly old fox! ' John chuckled, 'He can't help himself can he' he looked at the candle and the empty wines glasses on their table and swallowed. Sherlock still wouldn't meet his eye, OH URG, this was awful! Angelo was blatantly trying to grease the wheels of romance and Sherlock was uncomfortable, of course he was. The Detective prided himself in knowing what was going on at all times, but this was an area he was lacking in empathy with. Of course he would be embarrassed, John was mortified. What could he say to set Sherlock at ease again, so he could just exist in a happy orbit around him without the Detective suspecting the real weight of Johns affection.' Doesn't Angelo know that some people don't want to be set up! that they're perfectly happy as they are?'

Sherlock did look up at that, he blinked and stood from the table at such speed that he caught a wine glass on the way. 'Yes, he should know that. I'm sorry John' the wineglass rolled to the floor and shattered on the terracotta tile.John leant down to pick bits up with his napkin, he managed to get the largest shards.When he returned to sitting , Sherlock was gone. 


	7. Stalemate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing has been said but still the unsaid looms large.

Sherlock raced along Shaftesbury avenue, the bright lights of the theatres glimmering up from the puddles below. The rain wrapped him in its embrace and whipped his face at the same time.This inclement weather reminded him of Irene Adler, beautiful but ultimately seeking to soak into your bones and make you suffer. Poor Irene, she really was his, he knew that, she'd never faced an adequate mental challenge in her life , and so she had no defence when they sparred together. He felt protective of Irene, he knew she was genuine in her affection, and however toxic she may be, her lack of control regarding him was disarming. He couldn't apply the same rules to John. For Irene, turning up to a beheading and saving her life ensured her undying gratitude as well as her genuine, if misguided affection. John had been grief stricken and furious about Sherlocks sacrifice and had guarded his feelings closer than before.

Sherlock stopped and ducked in a doorway, he remembered the words that John had written. 

_I am suddenly presented with the one person I want most in the world at the exact moment I realise that this cannot ever happen. My heart breaks the rest of the way._

He inhaled a shuddering breath, oh yes indeed, he knew exactly what that felt like, it felt wretched and he'd run. 

* * *

John sat miserably staring into his wine glass, all the diners had gone, and he was picking at the tablecloth wondering what to do next.

Angelo appeared at his elbow ' I'm sorry, if I caused you any embarrassment'

John looked up at the large man , briefly wondering if this is what St Bernards looked like when you told them off.' It's OK, you know what Sherlock is like'

'I thought I did '

' Me too' John whispered quietly.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and began to text. 

**Hiya. Is it Ok to come over to stay for a couple of days? JW**

**Don't worry if not. Just say. JW**

No response. It's fine people often had lives that didn't require them to be immediately available, it was only John who...

**Of Course it is. Why the eff are you signing with your initials you freakazoid??**

John smiled and then sighed sadly . 

**Sherlock always does, I just started doing it tbh. JW**

**If Sherlock told you to jump offa cliff would you??**

John inhaled sharply, jumping off things was not a great subject.it took a couple of seconds to register the other side of the conversation and then ... 

**GOD . Sorry Johnny. I'm an arse. When will you get here?.**

**Really, so soory. I'll make up the futon. Come over, I'll get bacon in just to set all the fire alarms off for brekkie xxxx (HW)**

John chuckled at the thought of Harry setting off the smoke detectors and then smashing at them with a mop, like she had done when he'd visited her at uni. Pretending she was 'roommates' with Welsh Celia . _' OH HI CELIA, this is my brother, he's here for a couple of days on leave '_ John had smiled and waved a greeting, Celia had looked affronted and Harry had gone to have a conversation about 'coursework' in the corridor that somehow ended with the words _' tell him or I will!'_. Harry had broken down in tears to confess her wicked lesbianism, John had done mock outraged for five minutes then burst into giggles and told her he'd always known and it was all fine. The dead arm was worth it.

He couldn't deal with going back to 221b, he'd have to talk it out with Harry and then maybe it would be alright. Harry had had plenty of unrequited crushes, she'd survived and so had some of those friendships. That was what was important, above all else, friendship. 


	8. Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both men have a self indulgent wallow, how long can this continue?

John sat with his head against the cool glass of the train window. He looked down at the hastily purchased items in the bag at his feet. Some boxers , deodorant, tooth brush and toothpaste. He'd thought about getting a bottle of wine, but this was Harry and he didn't really know if she was in moderation , excess or abstinence at the moment, best not risk it.He ought to text Sherlock, but Sherlock ought to text him too, and he was exhausted trying to work out how to say _' I've gone off to have a chat with myself, normal service resumed shortly'._

He mulled over the phrasing and lied instead . **Harry crisis, back Monday . JW**

* * *

Sherlock was perched on a railing next to the Thames, watching the houseboats bob on the tide and sheltering under a tree on the embankment.It was late, he'd have to move shortly lest he have to fight off a mugger or a rent boy , he chuckled, he'd posed as both down here for cases, it was they who were more at risk from him! His phone buzzed.

Sherlock read Johns text and felt queasy, John had been so uncomfortable that he'd fled to his sisters for a couple of days. On the one hand it was a relief to have some time to think, but it could also make things more strained between them. The silly little leatherbound book, years old, feelings long dealt with. 

The last time Sherlock visited his parents home they had placed a significant number of old photographs in a collage style underneath a glass table top in the upstairs study. In one of the photographs was Sherlock with his arms draped around Redbeard the family dogs neck , beaming. Little Sherlock had learned to cope with the loss of his beloved companion. For months he carried his back legs for him in a sling around the woods , hiding Redbeards limp behind tiredness from their long walks. He refused to concede that it was for the best when Redbeard had been taken to the vets on his final journey while Sherlock was away on a school trip. It had broken his heart, but he lived. He could live without John as more than a friend. Maybe. 

* * *

John lay on the futon sniffing at the unfamiliar washing powder, Cedar and something? the smell was fresh but overpoweringly not home. He felt a lump in his throat. 

Earlier it had been lovely to be greeted by Harry at the station, holding a cardboard sign that said **J.H.WATSON ESQ.** Ha! Harry was a bloody idiot. Harry really was, for all her bluster and giggling , John felt the same bone deep loneliness echoing off her that he felt himself, she talked a good game but he knew she was just as lost as him. They hadn't had a drink and Harry had made a big show of _'NO Alcohol in the house Johnny Boy! Isn't that marvellous'_ He wasn't an idiot , and he knew that meant any that you can see, and that she was probably down there now chugging vodka from one of the mineral water bottles in the fridge. Why else would she have filled him a glass from the tap to take to bed with him, he heard Sherlock from a long time ago _'always the detail, you see but you do not observe'_. He did see now, he couldn't unsee , Sherlock had shown him the world and now he might never see with blinkers again. It was raw, the world, thinly veiled motivations masquerading as offhand gestures, it was exhausting. Sherlock lived with this always, how did he think he could get away with the way he felt forever. Though for some reason Sherlock had been kind, indulgent even, it was more than he deserved. The lump in his throat became a solid object and he coughed on his emotions, downstairs the fridge door rattled. It gave him no satisfaction to be right and he curled in on himself, aching to sleep.


	9. An Unlikely source of Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock confides in Mycroft, of all people.

Sherlock lay on his back with the newspaper covering his face. He smelled the newsprint and blew at the page to make it rustle. Outside in the street cars came and went and the sound of Mrs Hudson's baking tins sliding from her cupboard barely made him flinch. He tried to imagine what she would be baking, surprising little woman.It could be a Victoria sponge like last week although it was probably hash brownies. He chuckled at the the thought and then groaned in frustration as he heard the front door bell. Mycroft. Of course it was ,lured by the siren call of cake tins. 

Sure enough he heard the greeting with his landlady and the familiar tapping of the Mahogany handled swordstick. 'GO AWAY MYCROFT!' he bellowed, the newspaper slipping off onto the floor. 

The elder Holmes arrived silently in the room , and after several minutes of nothing Sherlock craned his neck up from the couch to make sure he wasn't alone, when he spotted his brother he groaned 'UGH ! Mycroft, I told you to go away, you aren't needed'.

' Sherlock Holmes, it is precisely when you tell me to go away that I am needed. '

Sherlock fixed Mycroft in a hard glare, hoping to communicate his displeasure and utter refutation of the statement. He found he could not, it was , awfully horribly true. He groaned again. 'UGGGGHHHHHH!'

'I see the boxes are here but there is no Doctor to go with them' 

'UGGH'

' I also note your eloquence escapes you'

Sherlock sighed and looked up at his brother , flinging his arm out to point at the moroccan pouffe. Mycroft arched an elegant brow and blinked in response . ' 'Turn it over, the source of the trouble is in there' Mycroft moved over to Sherlocks chair and settled in it clasping the leather pouffe up off the floor. 

* * *

A while later Sherlock had almost dropped off at the lack of noise coming from where Mycroft sat reading , the occasional _'hmm'_ being the only indicator he was still in the room.Sherlock mused if Mycroft had ever ninja trained but quickly dismissed that because he'd never seen a ninja in tweed. 

Mycrofts voice was soft when he spoke, 'How much have you read Sherlock?'

'Enough to ruin everything'

'Have you read the parts after your fall from St Barts?'

Sherlock swallowed ' No' 

Mycrofts voice wobbled , almost imperceptibly , but Sherlock heard it ' Then I suggest you never do' 

Clasping his hands over his face Sherlock growled in frustration ' I wish I'd never read any of it ! ' 

'Will you tell him?'

' That I've read it? no, God How can I ? he trusts me and I've almost broken that several times over'

' Not that you've read it. That you feel the same'

' DO I feel the same Mycroft? Do I really ? Do I feel at all?'

Mycroft paused to consider his response, breathing slowly in through his nose.' I had hoped, when you were born that you would be like me but better, that I had been a prototype and you would be the newer model'

Sherlock rolled on his side to look at his brother intently.

' Yet,you are so much more than that, and I held myself responsible for the way you suffered . You came to the world with such fire in your eyes that it scared me. You burn with an intensity that I never have.I envy the way you feel, but I bear the guilt of wishing it for you' 

'What do I do with all this ...this...' Sherlock gestured at his own chest .

' You have been outmanoeuvred by your own emotions, you can retreat, or you can forge ahead. Colours flying' 

'How can you be so sure? '

'Because I would retreat, and I would be wrong.If there is one tenth the devotion between these pages left in the heart of Doctor Watson , then you need never doubt his regard'

'Thank you Jane Austen' 

' On the contrary Sherlock, the writing here is far superior than anything I've ever observed on that ridiculous blog. I suspect because it is simply the truth, and it is hard to hide ones heart . Even in a woven leather footrest.'

Sherlock turned onto his front and buried his face in the cushion.'Thank you' he mumbled into it. 'Now Piss off'


	10. Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johns seaside break isn't a break from his thoughts. A stranger helps him focus.

John sat in the living room sipping his coffee.Harry wouldn't be getting up anytime soon, then she'd give him some utter balls about food poisoning or seagulls being loud, he almost preferred when she was drinking openly because then he didn't have to smile and keep the fragile pretence between them. 

Outside the sun shone brightly and John decided to go down to the seafront to blow away the cobwebs, and stop stewing while his sister slept off her 'secret' hangover. 

* * *

Leaning over the railing looking out to sea brought no relief from his thoughts, but the sun was warm and the breeze was pleasant, and if he had to suffer, it was better outdoors. The familiar pep talk accompanied his ice cream, and as he strolled nibbling at the raisins in his ice cream he repeated it like a mantra, _' Forget how you feel and be a better best friend'_ bloody hell, he should be able to rein it in, he was not a lovesick kid. 

He was a man, a man who although he had thought about men that way had never actually done anything concrete about it.In the changing rooms and the Army it was banter, he was able to joke outloud about the way he felt. Having a gay sister had allowed him a free pass to stand up for gay rights with no suspicion, ridiculous, that he was so terrified to be outed. The only thing he wasn't terrified of were his feelings for Sherlock, he had no choice in the matter, Whomp there they were. He thought about Sherlocks lonely existence and how he had been so proud that he was able to get through when no one else seemed to, this stupid situation was really letting his friend down.

* * *

With his head tipped back and his eyes closed to the sun, he concentrated on the positive. He now lived back with Sherlock and got to see him everyday, whatever else, and however uncomfortable it was so much better than the alternative , not knowing where he was or if he was alive. A shadow moved over his face and he opened his eyes to see an old man looking at him expectantly.

'Sorry, I was miles away, Are you OK?'

The man chuckled, 'I wondered if you'd mind me sitting here ?'

John whipped his head to look up and down the sea front , there were plenty of empty benches.

'I know there are other seats, but this was his favourite. ' 

'Of Course, please sit down'

The man sat and got out a thermos flask and began to pour himself some coffee. 

John wondered if he should ask who the man was talking about, then thought it may be rude seeing as they'd just met. He turned to smile and the man said ' My friend Frank' 

'Right'

'He's not dead , at least I don't think so . He moved away.'

John sat and wondered at the backstory, as he turned again the old man spoke once more. 'I didn't know you see, I was married and I didn't know. '

Johns heart began to thump wildly now, 'Know what?'

'How it feels to be completely alone'

'Oh' 

'I missed him of course, but I was busy with my wife and my children ' 

John nodded and chewed on his cheek ' Yes, well you would be'

' They've grown up, and she's passed and I still miss him'

' You could call him?' 

' I've no idea where he is, he left here over 30 years ago.'

John frowned. He couldn't bear the thought of missing Sherlock for 30 years.His bench companion was staring out to sea ,he seemed to be lost in thought.He wondered at the nature of the mans friendship with Frank, it was none of his business, and certainly not his place to judge. Would this be him in 30 years time if he didn't sort this out? Probably, ...he really needed to get back to Baker Street. He said his goodbyes and as he got up to go he noticed the sleek black car on the opposite side of the road . Bloody Hell. 


	11. Magnets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the journey home for John. Sherlock cannot leave well alone.

As he caught sight of the Sedan , his phone buzzed.

**Taxi for Watson**

John shook his head at his phone.As he prepared to cross the road he took a quick snap of the bench and the view, to steel his resolve if things got difficult. Shoving his phone in his pocket ,he made his way to the car, engine starting up as he neared it. He was prepared for a confrontation, but the back of the car was empty. The partition came down and the Driver asked where he'd like to go. He gave the address of his sisters flat and settled down in the leather seat. 

* * *

Harry was in a predictable state, but she seemed genuinely pleased John had come to a conclusion, he didn't dare tell her he wasn't sure about anything but not leaving 221b.As he settled back in for the drive back to London his phone buzzed again. 

**Your absence is inconvenient. SH**

Smiling to himself, John knew that was as close to _'I Miss You'_ as Sherlock ever got. **Make your own bloody tea. JW**

**Shan't. SH**

**Throw yourself on the mercy of Mrs Hudson. JW**

**Tried that. Unhappy face. SH**

**Would it kill you to use an emoji? JW**

**Most probably . Unhappy cat face with a single tear. SH**

**How do you know there are Catface emojis??JW**

**I don't. SH**

Just as he was composing his next text , his phone interrupted with another message.

**John. Please come home. SH**

Sherlock never said please, and John read and reread it, chewing his lip. 

**On my way. JW**

John watched the screen for _typing..._ But it didn't come, he'd have to relax and figure out what he was going to say when he finally got home. 

* * *

In Baker Street , Sherlock twisted the leather piping of the moroccan pouffe in his hands, a pleasing creaking sound came from it . He wondered when John had bought it, if he was honest, he wondered nothing of the sort, he wanted to read the parts of the journal he hadn't already. The unseen must be quite affecting if they chipped through Mycrofts icy exterior. He'd already read the rest without Johns permission, John was coming home, or at least said he was, (he checked the text for the tenth time) he may never get the chance again. There could be a clue as to how to proceed, how to _'not lose'_ John. Mycroft suggested he never read it , but when did he ever do what Mycroft told him to. He began to unzip the footstool , pausing to remember he did wish he'd never read it .. but he had. It was read, and not completed. 


	12. After the fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wrote the words with no intention of anyone reading them, now two other people have.

Mycroft pushed his lavender scone around the delicate plate on his desk. He wondered if he should have been quite so strident in his assuring Sherlock of Johns feelings. He was rarely wrongfooted, and knew his brother well, but he didn't know John Watson. Some of the phrases employed in the journal had quite taken him by surprise, the soul of a poet under that lumpy jumper and itchy trigger finger facade. 

Sherlock was of paramount importance, without John there would be no Sherlock , and without Sherlock there was no Mycroft. The lines that particularly haunted were after the angsty pining of their initial interactions, when Sherlock was , to Johns knowledge, very very dead. 

Dead having ... _'flung himself from a tall structure like a fucking dark angel crashing into the concrete with mortal bones and precious blood'_ . Dead having _...'Taken Johns heart and torn it from him to land on'_ .Leaving him _...'worse than a war casualty and twice as pointless.'_

Mycroft shuddered and mentally placed himself in Johns shoes at that moment, imagining he had lost Sherlock.For his entire waking moments he was engaged in nosy,overbearing protection of the reckless idiot. How would his life differ? According to Dr Watson , the loss made him feel as if ... _' someone had removed each of his ribs with bolt cutters and then stuffed them unceremoniously back in his chest, circling his heart like a walking rack of lamb, bleeding out and raw for the entire world to see.'_ This Holmes did not cry, had not cried since 1981. The pain of suppressing the tears to keep his composure infront of his brother had most definitely turned inward, and the scone before him looked like a block of cotswold stone. He pushed the plate away and keenly felt the absence of anyone to feel that way about him. Caring was not an advantage , love was a chemical defect, these were rules to live by, but just once he mourned the lack of someone who would ignore his rules. He looked at his watch, he would allow 5 more minutes of wallowing, then the subject should be closed forever. 

* * *

Sherlock was sick. He vomited in the kitchen sink and was overcome with a cold sweat. Gripping the edge of the worktop, he decided that he would be better lying down and turned the tap on to wash the (mainly coffee) evidence of his reaction away. 

Lying on his bed in the dark room , curtains closed against the daylight, Sherlock clutched the little leather book to his chest. Mycroft was right, when was he not? Reading in painful detail the disintegration of his best friend was worse than any crime scene he'd ever been to. It was necessary, there was no choice to be made, but Johns suffering was a burden he had not quite comprehended until now. He knew what grief was, he had studied human reactions, he had expected John to be very stoic and resigned, to be so utterly destroyed was not a welcome discovery. 

Sherlock would be a better man, John could have anything or nothing from him. He leapt to his feet and searched for his shoes.


	13. Dinner for two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things seem back to normal, but Sherlock hasn't covered his tracks.

The car journey was both too long and not long enough. Johns nerves built and he hoped his new determination wouldn't be derailed by seeing Sherlock in the flesh. 

The visit to Harry had been revealing in more ways than one. His sister could not be chilled out about alcohol, and he could not be chilled out about this.That look in the old mans eyes when he talked about his lost friend, he knew that look he'd seen it in the mirror often enough. thankfully Sherlock was alive, and he was right where John knew he was, he wasn't lost, hurt or worse. The ache of not confessing his feelings was nothing compared to the dreadful physical pain of attempting to cope with his death. He never really had, and he hadn't moved on with Mary, he'd used her like a anaesthetic. The pain was always there she just numbed it for a while, who knows if it would've gone eventually. Thank The Lord he didn't have to find out.

Sherlock was alive, Mary was gone , the baby gone mid way into pregnancy. John at first felt relief, then guilt, then relief again when Mary tearfully confessed she too was relieved. She had told him that she couldn't hope to compete now Sherlock was back, he had placated her and assured her it wasn't true.They both knew it was and the timer was set to Countdown. 

* * *

The car pulled up on Baker Street , and John looked up at the window , it was empty , but that made him all the more eager to see the face that haunted his every thought. 

John sprinted up the steps to 221b,a giddy fizzing in his chest. Rehearsing a casual greeting and a _'Hey mate, sorry it all got weird'_ speech, he made his way to the front door. 

The door swung into a very tidy looking living room and John was instantly on high alert. Whipping his head to take in the room he called Sherlock.

'In Here!'

Sherlock was just spooning something that smelled amazing into serving dishes and humming in a disconcerting manner.

He didn't lift his head and continued bustling around 'Hello John! Harry Ok?'

'Uh, Yeah. ...Well no. ....Bit drunk actually'

Sherlock lifted his eyes to meet the Doctors and raised an eyebrow.

' Yeah ,Yeah OK, a lot drunk. ...Really ,...really drunk'

They both laughed and the tension was diffused. A weight lifted from Johns chest and he grabbed a plate.

'The Seafood Linguini,with extra lemon...' Sherlock gestured at the dish and then turned to grab another ' ...is mine, no thieving. This is your Chicken Parmigian ' 

They laughed again and John sat down at the table, with it's table cloth of, What was that? ' Sherlock is this your antique canvas periodic table ?'

' Maybe. Currently its an antique canvas periodic table cloth '

* * *

'Washing up?' 

'Dishwasher'

'Really? Where is it?'

'Downstairs , listening to Shirley Bassey'

'SHERLOCK! Mrs Hudson is not our housekeeper!' he chuckled and grabbed a tea towel, flicking it at his flatmate. 'Come on, if you fill the sink I'll do the drying, Have you got any mugs hanging around in the living room?'

For a few seconds everything was quite the best it had ever been in the flat.Mrs Hudson was merrily singing Bond themes down stairs,Sherlock was about to do the washing up, and John Watson was swearing his head off in the other room . Oh.

'Bloody Buggering Fuck!'

Sherlock felt his scalp contract and the colour drain from his face, he'd forgotten to put the journal back in it's hiding place. He hoped that wasn't what the problem was, but he made a living out of not being an idiot. Having said that as he tentatively walked toward the source of the swearing, he felt like a total imbecile.

Sure enough, John had his back to Sherlock and the little book was clutched in his shaking hand.He was muttering what sounded like more swearing but Sherlock couldn't hear over the blood thumping in his ears.

John continued to grip the book till his knuckles were white. Desperate to diffuse the situation , Sherlock blurted out ' I didn't read it, I've never even seen that book before' .

'Yes you did, you're Sherlock bloody Holmes, how could you resist'

'Yes ,OK , I did'

' Jesus Christ , Why did you have to have read it?'

'I'm Sherlock bloody Holmes , how could I resist ? '

John turned and faced Sherlock with his mouth set into a grim line .

'Sherlock, I need to explain' 

'You don't, it's quite, ...self explanatory'

'HA!' Johns eyes took on a glassy appearance and he seemed to be having trouble catching his breath, panic attack? Sherlock couldn't tell for certain, only that this was not the way the evening was supposed to go.

Sherlock swallowed and tried to keep his voice even . ' You're simply a man who kept a diary, and there were some, ... extraordinary circumstances to report on'

Out of his depth with an unpredictable Watson, he wanted to say next _'I read it, because I'm fascinated by you, for me there is only you worth knowing, if you still feel you want me most in the world, then great, here I am'_ . What he actually said was ' Journal of a man' 

'It's not very sodding manly though is it?, all this girly bloody mooning!'

John took the book and threw it at the wall , flushing with embarrassment. He shook with it, and Sherlock wasn't sure if it was going to end in a bloody nose for his snooping , so he said the only thing he could think of. 

'I've never been happier about girly bloody mooning in my whole wretched life John.'

John said nothing, screwing his eyes shut. When he raised his head he looked terrified. 

The shaky voice that spoke was barely a whisper, it broke Sherlock into pieces like John had written all that time ago . 

' Pardon? you're going to have to help me understand what you mean, I'm not doing too well on my own Sherlock'

Inner Mycroft was straight in his little brothers head . 'Now Sherlock, now is the time to choose. You can still have a life of detachment of cold clean logic, or you can have sentiment and chaos. Choose wisely, because this time, there is no going back'

The Detective sucked in a large breath and met the desperate eyes of his best friend. 


	14. Clarification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs to be sure that John is in no doubt. He doesn't achieve this straight away.

At some point , Johns face had ceased to be in front of his own. Unfortunately, Sherlock wasn't clear on if that had been 10 seconds ago or 10 minutes. Impeccable timing as always Holmes. His gaze flickered around the room , but no John, his breathing became shallower as he tried to work out how long he'd stared into space.Jerking into action suddenly to take off down the stairs he realised, that John was not gone, he was sitting silently in his chair with his head in his hands , elbows on his knees. A lump formed in his throat, how was he going to broach this properly? it was going stunningly well so far. 

'John' his voice croaked.

The Doctor didn't lift his head and Sherlock observed drips of dark spots on his trousers, tears? from John Watson? Oh this was slipping from his grasp wasn't it.

Sherlock dropped to his knees on the floor in front of John and tentatively reached for his wrist, it was wet, definitely tears then. Silent tears, somehow more heartbreaking, He touched his fingertips to his mouth and tasted the salt on his tongue, this had been a part of John and now was a part of Sherlock, He hummed , and John spoke in a whisper.

' Are you trying to be a human pensieve Sherlock?'

'A..What?'

John laughed weakly, 'I knew you weren't watching those Harry Potter films properly'

' Well, you like them don't you , and I...I...John, I'd do anything for you'

'Regardless of your own feelings?'

' Yes, of course, I don't understand why that is such a bad thing. '

John sounded tired and wiped his hand wearily across his eyes. ' It's not Sherlock, it's really not , it's great, you're an excellent friend and I'm very lucky that you're here '

Sherlock couldn't quite put his finger on what was happening, but he had an uneasy feeling that he'd just failed a test he didn't know he was taking.

John stood up from his chair and collected a couple of mugs from the coffee table. He walked into the kitchen and began to set about the washing up. Sherlock stayed on the floor , frowning. 

* * *

John methodically washed and dried the crockery and put it all back in the relevant cupboards, he made sure every tine of the forks was sparkling and placed them carefully in the cutlery drawer. He took the cling film from the cupboard under the sink and placed the leftovers in the fridge . Searching for another task he started to rearrange the food so all labels were pointed forwards and like was with like. It was meditative, he found comfort in repetitive tasks , the army had been brilliant for that, he excelled at standards and as a Doctor, it was encouraged further.He was so absorbed that he hadn't heard Sherlock come into the room. 

' Seeking to make order from chaos?'

' Something like that'

'Thats what you do for me John'

' Well, if you weren't such a messy git I wouldn't have to! ' 

John still hadn't turned around . 

' You bring order to my chaos, everything makes sense when you're here.'

The Doctor sighed at that and his voice wobbled a little' Yeah, well, you've no worries on that score,I'm not going anywhere'

'Thats still too far'

John did turn at that, ' Don't, just don't. Whatever it is that you think that I want, don't do it because you think it's what I want and so you'll do it. I'm fine Sherlock, we're fine Sherlock, It was ridiculous to write all that down. It's all theoretical'

The Detective paused and began earnestly 'I don't write , I compose music or solve puzzles, ...I wish I was better at this ...'

'You don't have to be better, you're amazing as you are. You don't need to be any other way.You could maybe put your clothes in the wash basket, not on every available surface but... no.. don't even change that. You're perfect as you are' 

Sherlock stepped forward and handed John a newspaper .

'I .. I'll read it later . Just leave it on the side will you'

'Look at the crossword'

'I'm really not one for crosswords Sherlock, I don't think I can help you'

Sherlock scoffed gently. 'I finished the crossword , I'm a very clever man'

' Of course you did, well done' John looked bemused. 

'Just, look at it ...please'

John turned the paper until he found it.

' What do you see?'

' A finished crossword and some bird doodles. Sherlock...what?'

Sherlock felt his cheeks flush and struggled to maintain eye contact, but he knew that if he retreated now the moment was gone forever, and the perfect time had been coming and going all evening like an annoyingly fast tide.

' They aren't birds'

' Oh Sorry, they are just wiggly lines really, ...lots of wiggly lines'

' They are the line of your top lip'

' The ...the...really?' John traced his fingers across hiss mouth and looked over at Sherlock.

'I was thinking about your top lip whilst doing the crossword, how it was shaped, how you form words, what it would feel like, how it was compared to my own'

'You were?' the spark that lit in Johns eyes was worth any discomfort now, and Sherlock stepped forward.

'I was, and will continue to do so until I have conducted further exhaustive study'

' Sherlock I'm not a case to be solved'

' No, you're not. You are the person I want most in the world' 

' Do not throw my words back at me, that isn't fair'

' It doesn't make it any less true John. Songs, Music, Art, Literature, it all exists because humans seek to make sense of the larger emotions. I choose to use your words because they most fit my current predicament. '

John stared wide eyed and vulnerable .'This is weird territory for us to be in.'

' Again, it doesn't make it any less real. Absolutely the first thing that should be done is to establish feeling on both sides, so, if you could just...' he waved a hand between them.

'If I could just...Sherlock! ...this is ludicrous!'

'Are you saying you don't love me?'

' Of course I'm not saying that! Are you saying you DO love me?'

' Thats a given, so everything else is just admin really'

The men stared at each other and John held the newspaper up .

'So.This is your form of girly bloody mooning then'

'It would appear so yes. Could we never tell anyone about that and move on to the part where I get to explore aspects of a same sex relationship that we both enjoy. All this mooning is exhausting, and I'd been lead to believe there were things that involved more adrenalin and less talking'

' Yup, good for me. Snogging suit you?'

' Absolutel....MMMPH' The rest of Sherlocks sentence was swallowed into Johns mouth. it was odd to finally have this contact, but truth be told Sherlock couldn't really concentrate on much . John Watson must really have been a soldier to behold, because this strong attack on all senses left no room to mount a defence. Not that one was offered, how could you refuse the one person you wanted most in the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your great comments, I have enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading. Apols for any mistakes. Unhappy face followed by catface with hearts for eyes.


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